


if you won’t save me, please don’t waste my time

by Shaitanah



Category: Being Human
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Season/Series 05, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/pseuds/Shaitanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dominic Rook’s suicide was rudely interrupted and one time that he changed his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you won’t save me, please don’t waste my time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shirogiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/gifts).



> **Disclaimer** : Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. Title from “Falling Down” by Oasis.  
>  **A/N** : Special thanks to shirogiku who sort of brainstormed this craziness with me.

**I. Titania**

“There must be order,” he tells Titania, and no one in particular, or maybe himself. “Order in all things.”

She looks at him with cheerless, hungry eyes. The eyes of a deceptively docile Type 2 contriving to achieve its goal.

“Balance,” Rook continues, straightening out his meagre personal belongings on the desk. “I considered returning you to Alistair, but if I have lost so much, the least I can do is take an eye for an eye. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Some would consider her cute. In Rook’s inexpert opinion, she is rather unsightly, being a proud owner of a stumpy tail and a small body, made to look even more frail by the head fringed with bushy hair that resembles an unkempt beard. She looks like a children’s toy, and often acts like one too, a wound-up plushy with no off-switch. Rook is not a dog person and he is quite ready to admit that abducting the Home Secretary’s dog was a petty and childish move. Alistair would take pleasure in knowing that Rook has paid for it with several sleepless hours, which in his case means that he hasn’t slept at all.

Titania is suspiciously quiet now, which means that she wants something. Rook resolves to ignore her. He is leaving this world, for Christ’s sake!

The dog stares. He stares back. She wins the contest. 

Fine. He will feed the bloody thing. He goes to the kitchen, Titania trotting after him victoriously. He considers giving her bread, since, according to Giles, she is wheat intolerant, but poisoning a dog would make quite an unseemly final act. Besides, he is not about to commit murder-suicide; that’s a wholly different article.

There is a bit of cold beef in the fridge. He arranges it on a saucer and places it on the floor in front of Titania. She sniffs the meal and altogether stops paying Rook any attention. Ungrateful thing.

He shuts the door just in case she decides to ask for a second helping, and returns to his desk.

**II. The leaking tap**

A telltale drip-drop sound catches his attention. It comes from the bathroom. There is a leaky tap that has been bothering Rook ever since he moved in. Perhaps he should unscrew the damn thing and arrange a nice little flood. 

He is not looking for excuses. Honestly, he isn’t.

He goes to inspect the bathroom and spends half an hour staring at the droplets that cling to the tap. They plop down into the sink with a heavy, obnoxious sound. Time is of the essence, and yet there he is, wasting it so needlessly. This sound would stop irritating him if he finally pulled the trigger.

**III. Questions and salt**

He has a landline and he barely uses it. Everyone he knows phones him on the mobile. 

He doesn’t know why he answers the two advertisement calls and one opinion poll. The voices seem distant, as if speaking to him from beyond. He has long since stopped expecting a call from Alistair’s office telling him it has all been a huge mistake.

Once there is a doorbell ringing. A neighbour is the door, asking to borrow some salt. Rook is so surprised (they never talked to him and he never talked to them; at times it feels like he hasn’t got any neighbours) that he hands him the whole saltcellar. 

Live and learn, it seems. Or die and learn.

**IV. The Flaming Orc**

He should very much like to know how the fuck Ian Cram found out his address. Type 2 is shuffling his feet on the doorstep, babbling about his roleplaying game and how Rook has got all the time in the world for it. Rook gathers that Cram either has nowhere to go or plans to avenge the death of his sister and niece, possibly by talking Rook to death. This is definitely not how Rook wants to go out.

He slams the door shut in his face. Cram scratches at it like Titania does when she is displeased, but he cannot enter even if he knocks the door down. Of course he can still camp out in the corridor and chatter about the game until Rook finds a suitable piece of wood to drive into his heart, but one has to be a bit optimistic in Rook’s line of work, otherwise the future would look too bleak to cope with.

His optimism pays off when Cram finally leaves.

**V. Wrong number**

The call catches him halfway between the front door and the desk. 

Seriously? He can’t even die on his own terms?

“Is this the morgue?” a cold, clinical voice asks.

“Not yet,” Rook snaps, and smashes the receiver back onto the apparatus. After brief hesitation, he tears the cord out, gathers the phone into his arms, opens the window and defenestrates the annoying machine with a sense of grim satisfaction.

This matter of interruptions needs to be addressed before he gets murderous instead of suicidal.

**VI. Correct number**

When the mobile phone rings, Rook has trouble finding his voice. He should have turned it off. 

“Hello?”

He can’t recognize his own voice. It sounds lower, huskier, as if he is recovering from a bad cough.

Hal Yorke is the last person Rook expected to hear from at this point. He is disoriented and baffled, but one familiar word springs at him, spoken in Hal’s toneless half-whisper. _Work_.

“I believe I have work for you.”

That, he can do. Perhaps the other side can indeed wait. 

It occurs to him later that strange forces must be at work here if his life was bought with somebody’s death. 

“Who is it?” he asks Hal, looking down at the body.

Hal mutters: “Not a very good man.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Rook doesn’t ask. He supposes it’s a fair trade. There is order after all.

_February 19, 2013_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [holding back the tide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/691300) by [shirogiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku)




End file.
